The Silent Killer
by TheSnogBox
Summary: John knew Sherlock's homeless network was indispensable, but when Sherlock needs help on his newest case, they are used to summon a very different sort of Doctor...
1. The Text

John knew Sherlock's homeless network was indispensable, but when Sherlock needs help on his newest case, they are used to summon a very different sort of Doctor...

**You know I don't own this show, various writers and people do, so thanks to them for making drivel like this possible. **

Sherlock scribbled the note quickly and concisely in his messy handwriting as he sat in the living room of 221B Baker Street. He was alone, which made it easier - No one could know the great Sherlock Holmes was asking for help. Sherlock admired his own work, and rolled it up in a crisp, new £50 note. He had to make sure this arrived. He walked swiftly out of the door, closing it quietly and striding out onto the street with a purpose.

He paced Baker Street, looking for a person who would make sure this arrived. He knew homeless people who resided here at times, and searched for one now. Suddenly, he saw the perfect candidate. Her life flashed before his eyes from 20 feet away. Sherlock took in her scars, her clothes, her hair. She was 16, having been kicked out of school. Her parents had beaten her, so she'd moved out 6 months ago. Having no place to go, she'd appreciate the money, Sherlock thought, but she'd been around long enough to know where to take this message. He'd used her before. She was safe.

He walked briskly up to where she was slumped in her khaki coat. She looked up with recognition, and Sherlock saw her wondering how she'd spend her gift. A hat, he deduced, and a cup of tea. The rest she'd save. It didn't matter to Sherlock, but he couldn't help noticing.

"Here," he handed her the money discreetly, the note concealed, "Buy yourself something nice." He smiled briefly and halfheartedly. He walked away, and the girl watched him leave before taking in the money.

A hat, she thought, for winter. And maybe some coffee at lunchtime. She grinned warmly in anticipation. She knew there was a note here, and she couldn't help but read it, though she knew it wouldn't make sense. It didn't:

"Get the Doctor," she muttered to herself, "We need him."

She didn't know what he meant, the mysterious man who gave her cryptic note, but she knew exactly how to find someone who would.

**4 Hours Earlier **

Lestrade stormed into the police office, a worried look on his face.

"You mean to say there's no witnesses?" Lestrade put his head in his hands, trying to think.

"None at all. It's the third time this month, and they've been completely untraceable." Anderson looked through the three missing person reports. He felt completely clueless, but the rest of the team were ill with the flu that had been going round, and only Lestrade and him had been unaffected. So helping and clueless he was.

"No body?" Lestrade couldn't get his head around it.

"For the last time, we don't know anything! There's no bodies, no witnesses, no complaints, no traceable phones, no notes, no blood! They're just gone. And the last place they were seen, all of them, was driving out of town by a traffic camera. They're just gone."

"Why are we treating them as suspicious, anyway?"

Anderson stood up to show Lestrade the reports on his desk. "You see, exactly 17 minutes after leaving London, the missing person would send a text. Every time. The location is untraceable, but unmistakably their number. It reads "You're next. :)" And it's always sent to the next victim."

"How do you know? I mean, I thought they went missing?" Lestrade ran his hand through his hair, frustrated at the confusing case.

"That's the thing, though," Anderson slumped back into his chair, defeated. "Both of the two most recent victims are reported by family members to have received the text, and shown people. The most recent victim, a 19 year old, put his text on Facebook as a joke. He didn't think any more of it, and now he's gone."

"Well, you know who to bring in. Just make it quick."

** Meanwhile **

"Bored!" Sherlock shouted out of the window, startling two students below. They looked up at him, shielding the sun from their eyes, then scuttled away. Sherlock gave a half smile - temporary entertainment.

It was true though. Without constant stimulation, genius minds begin to fester. His had been festering since the last case with the hallucinogenic drugs. What was it called on John's blog? The Hounds of Baskerville? He felt fidgety: he needed a case. There was no one at home: John was with another one of his series of short term girlfriends, and Mrs Hudson was God knows where. He disliked it when Mrs Hudson left. She was always guaranteed company, especially when John was gone. He missed John the most. He liked to chuckle at his expense, but they were friends, really. It was weird, having a "friend". It was always one of those incomprehensible normal people things, like church and reality TV. Thanks to John, he had tried two of the three. Television wasn't a substitute for friends, though. He'd never noticed he missed people before.

He got up, quickly, carefully, his movements minimal but still exaggerated. He walked over to his skull and picked it up, examining it.

"We're okay, aren't we?" Sherlock spoke softly to his skull. He remembered when his "friend" died and left him this skull. True, Sherlock had killed him, but he still considered him the first sort of friend he'd had.

He felt silly talking to it now though. Once, he'd spent whole days discussing cases with his skull. Now, he couldn't bring himself to strike up a conversation. He placed it back on the mantelpiece and promptly forgot about it.

He got as close to surprised as Sherlock Holmes ever did when the phone rang a few seconds later. He should have known...

He picked up: "I'll be there soon," he replied, without letting Anderson speak. He knew what he wanted, and couldn't be bothered to listen when he talked.

** 1 Hour Later **

"Sherlock, what took you so long?" Lestrade looked exasperated as Sherlock strolled into the station.

"Oh, you know, things to do, people to irritate..." He trailed off, glancing at Anderson, who rolled his eyes.

Lestrade watched the exchange and sighed. Sherlock was so petty at times. "Look, can we just get on? We're already behind, and we need to get this solved before it happens again."

"Fine." Sherlock looked away from Anderson, and sat down as far away as possible from him. He started to read the cases laid out on the desk. "Talk to me," he demanded.

"Well," Lestrade began. "We've got three missing people, nothing to go on, no leads, only texts. You can see there," Lestrade pointed to a piece of paper on his desk, "the first one, Becca Kennedy, showed none of the usual signs of depression, or abuse. She just didn't come back from work. It's the same with the others. The footage of them doesn't appear to be suspicious, and they don't look forced. They may have been mugged, we think, or-"

Sherlock interrupted him. "No, they've been kidnapped. Or killed."

Anderson looked at him. "How could you know? We haven't visited a crime scene, or interviewed a witness, you can't know!"

"I don't know if you've noticed, Anderson, but there isn't a crime scene, or a witness. So you can trust someone who knows what they're doing, or convince yourself that your fairy story is true. I suggest you stay on the right side, agreed?" Sherlock smirked at Anderson.

Lestrade nodded. "Sorry Anderson, but we should probably listen to him."

Anderson looked at his feet, humbled by his boss, then spoke: "But... How did the kidnapper or murderer force them to leave town..?"

Sherlock sighed. "He didn't force them, of course. He just found them on the way."

Lestrade nodded: "I suppose that makes sense. What now? How do we stop it happening again?"

"I don't..." Sherlock stopped himself. "Well, I don't know." Anderson smirked.

"Could we track texts?" Lestrade suggested, ignoring Anderson. "Ask people to look out for that text?"

"No." Sherlock stopped him. "If word gets out, it will become impossible to trace the text. People will use it as a joke, and our only warning will be gone."

"What about finding where they go 17 minutes later?" Lestrade was determined to solve the case.

"How? Thousands of people travel down that road every day. Do we track them all and see where they are 17 minutes later? It's impossible."

"Well," interjected Anderson, "What do we do?"

"I... Don't know." Sherlock was worried. He couldn't solve the case. What would people think? How many people would be taken? He couldn't stop it - it was his fault.

** 2 Hours Later **

Sherlock had gone to the lab to work on another case. He found he could often work out the answer to one case by working on another, so that was what he did. He sat at his microscope, pretending to work while he pondered the situation. Why would the victims leave their homes voluntarily? None of them were on their way to work, and it didn't seem like normal behaviour of any of them.

Sherlock sighed and got up from his chair. He'd set up a TV to play the traffic footage from the case across from where he was stood, to look for suspicious behaviour, and decided to play it again, examining the edges of the photos for extra details. Three times through, all of the tapes. They looked completely normal. Just ordinary people on their ordinary way, and now they were missing. Sherlock hated unsolved cases. He kicked a wastepaper basket in despair, then sat back down on his chair, running his hands through his hair. His shirt sleeves rode up at the gesture, and Sherlock saw a glimpse of something. He suddenly burst out laughing. He knew who was responsible, he just needed the help of a friend to catch them.

The Doctor.

**Meanwhile**

John was with his newest girlfriend, Carrie, when he received the message. It was going well, and he really liked her. Admittedly, he wasn't sure how long it would last, as she lived over two hours away, but it meant when he did go and see her he got to stay a few nights. He had arrived this morning to her house, and was planning to stay for the whole week. He hoped Sherlock would be okay without him, but he was putting that whole area of his life out of mind for the next week.

The text was simple, from an unknown number. John read it, frowned, then disregarded it, going back to discussing the merits of soap operas with Carrie. It wasn't important, he hoped, though he did wonder what it could mean:

"You're next. :)"

**A/N: Sorry, I know everyone hates these things. I know this chapter is a bit Sherlock heavy, but we'll have more Doctor Who in the next chapter. I hoped you enjoyed the first chapter, if you did please review, because I'm not sure if I should carry this on. Thanks in advance for anything good or bad you have to say about the story, and if all goes to plan I'll have chapter two up in the next couple of weeks, although we'll see. I love you all, my dear readers, and hope you stick around for future updates. 3**


	2. The Parallel Universe

**I still don't own these shows, this fanfic is all fiction and I made it up in my head. The actual characters belong to various different people and not me, but you knew that already. :)**

**Two Days Later**

The Doctor was in the middle of saving Aristotle from a few rogue Slitheens when Clara gave him the message.

"Doctor!" she shouted breathlessly, after running from the TARDIS to tell him. "I've got a note! I'm pretty sure it's for you..." She held it sideways, unable to read the handwriting. "At least, I'm pretty sure..."

They were stood in the courtyard of an Ancient Greek building, which was open on all sides to the Slitheen attacks. The monsters wanted Aristotle to wear as a skin suit, because people saw him as powerful. The Doctor wasn't about to let that happen.

The Doctor looked from Clara to Aristotle, and back. "We should probably finish this first, Clara." Both men had already ran over two miles, trying to get to the TARDIS before the Slitheens, acting as Athens people, caught up with them. Aristotle was old, and the Doctor was seriously concerned for his friend. He wasn't sure he could run much more.

Aristotle noted the exchange and shook his head. "No, you go," he said quietly but firmly.

The Doctor looked at Aristotle, shocked. "But, Aristotle, old friend... Not much longer now, the Slitheens!"

Aristotle gave a knowing smile. "Go help your friend." He nodded at the note in Clara's hand. "Remember, you will never do anything in this world without courage. It is the greatest quality of the mind next to honour. I have a feeling you're going to need both."

The Doctor grinned, recognising the phrase. He gave his friend a hug. "We'll be back for you, of course," he whispered in the man's ear.

Aristotle broke the hug first. "I don't doubt it," he smiled. "Now go!"

The Doctor gave one last nod to the great figure, and turned to Clara. "C'mon then!" He was saddened he couldn't take Aristotle, but he knew his friend couldn't run any longer, and vowed to come back for him soon. He grabbed Clara's hand, and they set off running the next mile towards the TARDIS. Why were they always running?

**Meanwhile**

Sherlock was getting fidgety in the flat. He had nothing else on except the traffic case, which he was completely stumped on. He had an idea for who was responsible, but until the Doctor arrived, Sherlock had nothing to do but wait. For God's sake, Sherlock thought, the man has a time machine, why isn't he here yet?

Once again, Sherlock found himself examining his skull, remembering when its owner was alive. A childhood friend, he was. But now he was dead. Still, the skull was great for bouncing ideas off, as long as he wrote them all down. Otherwise, he had a habit of forgetting the ideas after a while. Still, Sherlock had nothing better to do while John was away.

His phone rang again, for what must have been the 7th time this morning. Sherlock didn't answer it, because he knew it would be Anderson, ringing about the case. Sherlock imagined how it would pan out if he did, but decided against it, since he was quite fond of his mobile phone, and didn't want to throw it out of the window when Anderson ultimately annoyed him too much.

It went to voicemail, and, Sherlock, out of pure boredom, decided to listen to it. Anderson's voice filled the apartment: "Erm, hi, Sherlock, it's Anderson here." Sherlock sighed. "I just wanted to know, I mean it's no rush or anything, just-" There was a rustling sound on the other end of the phone, and the next voice Sherlock heard was Lestrade's, which made him smirk. "Look, Sherlock, we need anything you've got. We don't know when this will happen again, and..." Sherlock heard Lestrade sigh, and noted the stress in his voice. "Just... Come in as soon as you can." The phone clicked and the message was finished.

Well, Sherlock thought, that was... interesting. Still, where was the Doctor?

**1 Hour Later**

"Aaah!" The Doctor shouted in frustration. He'd been analysing the handwriting on the note for the past hour, but couldn't trace it to a time or a place. He'd hoped the handwriting might make the job easy, but so far even the TARDIS couldn't recognise the scribble of the person who needed him so desperately.

Clara was sat next to the TARDIS console when the Doctor turned to her. "Tell me again how you came across the note?" he questioned. His eyebrows knotted and he looked at Clara hopefully.

She sighed. "This man came on the screen, and he looked important, and he said he had the note of someone who needed your help. I think he was from the government or something, but I don't know. I asked him who'd sent it, but the man said he didn't know, he was just instructed to give you the note. So he scanned it into his computer, and the TARDIS printed it out. I read it, then ran straight to find you in case it was important. That's it." She inhaled heavily, having said the story quickly to the Doctor.

The Doctor wrung his hands, pacing backwards and forwards in the wide space of the TARDIS's main room. "Did you say the man looked like he was from the government?" Clara nodded. "And he had no idea who it was from?" Clara shook her head sadly. The Doctor sighed, collapsing into a chair next to Clara, putting his head in his hands.

Suddenly, the TARDIS console gave an obviously meaningful bleep, and the Doctor sprung out of his chair. He ran over to the elevated screen, and gave a small chuckle. "Clara, ever wanted to go to a parallel universe?"

Clara stood up and walked over to next to where the Doctor was, fiddling with buttons and levers frantically. "But you said that was impossible now..?" She trailed off curiously.

The Doctor continued to work, and said: "Ah, you're right, but..." He twisted two levers "if I get this right," he pressed six flashing buttons in quick succession "the signal from the note looks strong enough, paired with the communication with the parallel UNIT leader..." He pulled a final lever, and the TARDIS shuddered, setting off. The Doctor stepped back proudly, and looked to Clara, smiling.

"Ever wanted to meet Sherlock Holmes?"

**10 minutes later**

Sherlock paced the flat, becoming more and more irritated. He couldn't do this without the Doctor, but it looked like he wasn't coming. Sherlock dreaded the thought of having to do this alone. If his theory was right (which it usually was) he wouldn't be able to do this without someone with experience. He was sure he'd come across this sort of thing before, but this was different. Very different.

Sherlock hated to ask for help.

He'd texted John in the past couple of days, finding out that actually, John was staying for a week with his girlfriend. This annoyed Sherlock a lot. Admittedly, he was slightly jealous of John's girlfriends. Whenever John got another one of his air headed playthings, Sherlock was kicked to the kerb until they kicked John to the kerb. It made Sherlock feel second rate, at best.

This was another thing Sherlock hated about having to rely on other people. They were unreliable, and Sherlock couldn't work at his own pace. He had to wait around, and that led to thinking about feelings. Sherlock much preferred facts.

Suddenly, a screeching noise filled the flat. Sherlock chuckled at the familiar sound, watching the blue box materialise in the centre of the room. The door swung open, revealing a tall man in a bow tie and a smaller girl, with wide Bambi eyes and a large grin on her face. Sherlock sighed. "It's about time, Doctor." He walked over briskly to shake the man's hand.

"Hello to you too, old friend," the Doctor replied.

**5 minutes earlier**

Clara walked back into the TARDIS control room, wearing a deerstalker and a tweed jacket. She couldn't wait to meet the great Sherlock Holmes, whose stories she'd devoured as a child. Alright, maybe these clothes and the pipe she was carrying were a bit much, but it was just fun, really.

The Doctor spotted her change in outfit and laughed out loud, shaking his head. "He's not going to like that. Not at all." He laughed again, forgetting to concentrate on maintaining the signal, and the TARDIS swerved violently. He turned quickly back to the controls, but Clara noted he was still smiling.

She bit her lip. "Should I change, then?" She didn't want to make the wrong impression.

The Doctor looked at Clara in alarm. "No, don't! It will be great."

Clara had wondered if there was some sort of rivalry between the men, as both thought they were super geniuses with a less clever sidekick, of sorts. She supposed she was about to find out, because at that moment, the TARDIS came to a loud stop. They opened the TARDIS door, and Clara noted the surroundings while half listening to the exchange between the men. The room was cluttered, but still well organised. A varied book shelf contained everything from Darwin to Dickens, and a fairly new TV stood in the corner, which suggested the Sherlock Holmes of this universe wasn't from the same era as Conan Doyle's.

She saw the men shake hands and felt slightly out of the loop. "So," she piped up. "When are we going to solve this mystery?" She looked between the two men, who both looked exasperated at her for ruining the moment. "What?" She asked. It felt like she was dealing with two Doctors all of a sudden, and wondered if her entire time here would be like this.

She had a feeling this was just the beginning.

**A/N So, that was that then. I hoped you liked that chapter, it had a bit more Doctor Who in. Hopefully, a bit more action starting now. A note on timings: a few times in this chapter, I mention things like that present day Sherlock is happening at the same time as the Doctor saving Aristotle. Obviously, these events aren't happening at the same time, but in terms of the timelines meeting, they are happening at the same time in the Doctor and Sherlock's respective timelines. If that makes sense. Sorry if it doesn't.**

**Thanks to the wonderful Sherlockreader, Misplacedhyperquill, Eta, BloodLily16 and Tabby Dreamer for reviewing the last chapter. As always, I appreciate everyone who bothers to read my terrible ramblings, especially the whole way through the Author's Note. New chapter maybe next week, maybe the week after, maybe longer, depending on stuff in my life. Please review if you liked it, that would be lovely. Wow, that was a long note. Sorry about that. 3**


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